Hopeless Wishing
by Trackrunner237
Summary: The Senior Partners have given Lilah one last job on Earth. And Lilah's going to do it... on her own terms. Post Not Fade Away. LilahWesley
1. Prelude to a Search

Disclaimer: I'm making no money off of this story. The characters belong to Mutant Enemy, 20th Century Fox, etc. Don't sue me, please. It would make me sad.

**Chapter One: Prelude to a Search**

Sticky. That's what the if felt like to crawl your way out of the depths of Hell. Hot and sticky. Not unlike sex.

Many unpleasant sensations rushed over Lilah Morgan as she forced herself to keep going, creeping ever so slowly upwards, inch by inch. The Senior Partners of Wolfram and Hart had gotten her this far. Now they expected Lilah to take herself the rest of the way. Never one to disappoint the higher-ups, Lilah kept moving, even though every pull ripped at her lungs.

Her right hand reached up, looking for purchase on the steep, burning rock tunnel that led up from Hades. But instead of hard, gritty stone, Lilah felt something entirely different: the edge of a portal. Swirling darkness. Her way out.

The climb from eternal torment to the portal had lasted weeks. The journey from the portal to the Land of the Living lasted seconds.

Lilah felt her insides turning over as the vortex twirled her around in an other-worldly sort of waltz before her body slammed into something cold and unyielding. Her ribs cracked in such a way that she wondered, for a moment,if she were still in Hell, being beaten by a gargantuan demon or crushed under thousands of stones. Then she realized she was cold. Hell was never cold. She had made it to her destination.

Lilah gulped for air. It took her several minutes to remember that there was no reason. She was still dead.

_Wesley gulped for air. Two straight hours of sexual exertion were taking their toll on his respiratory system. Lilah slid from her position on top to the empty side of the bed. There was sweat stinging her eyes, whether his or hers, she couldn't tell…._

Lilah shook the memory from her mind and forced her eyes open. It took her a moment to identify the stiff, gritty surface on which she was resting and which her fingernails were scratching: brick. And something else. Something that was clinging to her hands and her hair. Goo of some sort?

Lilah pushed herself up onto her knees and surveyed the dark liquid coating her skin. Reddish-black. Blood. There was no doubt of it. Especially once she spotted the bodies littering the ground around her. Hundreds upon hundreds of demons, big and small, humanoid and grotesque. All crammed into this narrow alley.

She looked around. This area struck a familiar chord in a faraway part of her mind. Was she near the Wolfram and Hart building? No, certainly not. All areas near the LA branch were kept meticulously clean. A good face for a bad clientele. But this alley was grimy and reeking. The garbage canisters were overflowing with rats.

The Hyperion. That was where she was. In the alley behind Angel's decrepit old headquarters.

Lilah stood up slowly, testing her legs. Sturdy as ever, even after an eternity of disuse.

_Not really an eternity_, thought Lilah. _Just a little over a year._

But that wasn't exactly true. A little over a year, perhaps, in earthly time. But in Hell, every second lasted a century.

Why was she here, anyway? Why was she given the chance to surface? Ah, yes…. She had a job.

"_We have a job for you, Ms. Morgan," came the voice. Lilah thought she recognized him as a Senior Partner, though it was hard to tell when you were lying on a table, having your chest ripped open. The Senior Partner, if that were indeed what he was, waved for the torturer to stop._

"_A rather important job, in point of fact. Earlier tonight, a soul was stolen mid-flight. A soul that belongs to us. We want it back."_

"_A soul?" croaked Lilah. She was amazed her voice was still functional after so many ages._

"_Yes, indeed," said the Partner, studying his nails. More like claws, really. "You may or may not have heard about The Battle that took place topside. Dreadful thing. But we had no choice. The whole of the Black Thorn was murdered; we had to retaliate with equal regard. Anyway, you'll be interested to know that an acquaintance of yours was killed. It is his soul which we lack, and which you are going to retrieve for us."_

"_Angel?" asked Lilah. It was the only logical choice. Surely nothing less than that sanctimonious bastard would bring a Senior Partner down to enlist the services of Lilah Morgan._

_Yet, the aforementioned Senior Partner was shaking his head. "No. Angel, unfortunately, survived. Not to worry, though. We've got assassins hot on is trail, ready for blood. No, Ms. Morgan, we've got an entirely different fish in mind for you to catch."_

And he had explained the situation, what was required of her, where she should begin. He had stuck her in the tunnel that led to life, and he had left her to worm her way up.

So here she was. Standing in the middle of this filthy lane, coated with demon blood. Ah, but not all demon, apparently. Lilah's eyes spotted Charles Gunn, the valiant warrior. Dead. He lay on his back, eyes wide open and his insides strewn about. He had died bravely, defending all that was Good and Pure. And yet, he would be in Hell by now. The contract he had signed before taking the job at Wolfram and Hell had made sure of that.

_What would you say now, Angel?_ Lilah wondered. _Here was a man who fought for what you would have called the "right side". The polar opposite of me. And yet he'll spend his eternity in the same place I've been spending mine. And the same place you'll eventually spend yours. That's your just rewards. Was it worth it?_

Lilah couldn't help but smile at the irony of it. So many years of battling Angel Investigations in a multitude of ways. And in the end, they were really all on the same side. Stuck in the same boat, up the same creek, missing the same paddle.

She tore her eyes away from the eviscerated body of Charles Gunn to inspect herself. Thankfully, the Senior Partners had seen fit to provide her with clothes. Though by no means bashful, Lilah didn't particularly care for walking around downtown Los Angeles in the nude.

A purse. Prada, by the looks of it. Say what you will about the Senior Partners; at least they had fashion taste. Lilah picked it up and began examining the contents. The first thing her fingers found was a folded note written on expensive office stationary.

Ms. Morgan,

Please find enclosed appropriate identity papers: driver's license, birth certificate, social security card, etc. We have also seen fit to include a Platinum Visa business card. You are expected to use it accordingly and without frivolity (although, personally, I wouldn't begrudge you a pair of the new leather Gucci sling-backs; you should see their fall line-up).

Don't concern yourself over Angel. Our sources tell us he has recently left Montana, accompanied by a vampire and a demon-queen, neither of whose names you would know. They are unlikely to give you any trouble.

Regarding the particular soul we have previously discussed: The rest of the Senior Partners and I expect you to find said soul within the span of ninety days. If you have failed to complete this task in the appointed time, you will be deemed inadequate for the task, and we will have little choice but to demote you to a much more unpleasant level of Hell. We hope, therefore, that you will act posthaste. 

On behalf of myself and my fellow Senior Partners, we wish you the best of luck.

Most sincerely,

Master Ecnel'ovelam

Lord of Discord and Vengeance

Senior Partner to Wolfram and Hart

King of the Eighth Circle

Lilah tore the letter in half, then in quarters, then in eighths. It would not do to have some casual passer-by or mugger discover the note and, on a whim, invoke the name of Ecnel'ovelam. He would be most displeased.

Ninety days…. Ninety days to find one soul that could be anywhere on God's green earth. And she had only a few clues at her disposal. Lilah scratched absent-mindedly at the scar running across her neck.

_"What was it like?" Lilah had asked, her fingers dancing circles on her throat. "When she cut you?"_

_And suddenly, in less than an instant, Wesley's hand was closing over her windpipe. "Are you terribly anxious to find out?" he responded. There was no amusement in his gaze, no lust that she would later come to associate with his face. There was only venom, and Lilah realized that she was witnessing pure hatred for the first time in her life. And she was incredibly turned on._

She brushed as much dirt as she could from her clothes and exited the alleyway. In the dead of night, there were only a few cars traveling up and down the dim roads of Los Angeles. Was it starting to rain? No, just a slight mist. _Too bad_, thought Lilah. A downpour was just what she needed to wash off the demon blood caking her skin and clothes. Still, it was nothing a long, hot bath in a four-star hotel wouldn't cure.

After almost an hour standing out on the curb of the almost-empty street, Lilah was finally able to hail a passing taxi. As the cab whisked her away to the closest resort, Lilah leaned her head back and stretched her arms out, lettingher shoulders pop in their sockets.

She had a lot of planning to do. Not for nothing was she renowned as the shrewdest CEO Wolfram and Hart had seen in several centuries. If the Senior Partners thought she was going to allow herself to be pulled back into Hell once her task was completed, they had quite an unpleasant surprise in store. Lilah had made a long, brilliant career out of finding the loopholes in contracts. She would just as easily find a way to weasel out of hers.

But Lilah fully intended to find the missing soul. She had a much deeper interest in it... a grander reason for locating it than staying out of Hell.

_"Not Angel's?" Lilah had asked, her eyes narrowing. "Whose, then? Whose soul?"_

_Ecnel'ovelam had grinned devilishly, the firelight glinting off of his long, sharp teeth. He looked as if he were about to tear her throat out. "Why, Ms. Morgan, I would have thought you would have guessed that by now." And Lilah knew. She knew why the Senior Partners had come to her with the problem of this missing soul. Whose soul it was._

Lilah swiped her keycard through her hotel room's magnetic lock. She didn't bother flicking on the light. It would be too harsh and bright. She could see well enough without it.

She crossed the room to the sink, grabbed one of the cheap, plastic cups, and filled it to the brim with cold water from the tap. She downed it in two seconds. Another cupful of water. And another. It took six cups of water to ease the burning in Lilah's throat.

_"Besides," she had said, pulling down her scarf to reveal the red, irritated decapitation scar to Angel's crew. "My Wesley made sure I'd be spared."_

And now, she had the chance to repay the favor. It was time to find her Wesley.

----------

More to come...

Please, please, _please _review. I enjoy everything from honest critiques to one-worders like "good" or "bad". Come on, you know you wanna type a little something in that review box...


	2. The Price of Pryce

Disclaimer: Oh, how I wish the characters were mine. Alas, no. They belong to Mutant Enemy and 20th Century Fox.

**Chapter Two: The Price of Pryce**

Wesley didn't know he was currently residing in a jar, amorphous and whirling. His soul was, in fact, trapped in an empty peanut butter jar. Wesley had always despised peanut butter.

He felt certain he was in Hell. He had known the day would come.

_Wesley was standing at the small table, the pen lingering hesitantly in his hand. Gunn, Fred, and Lorne stood behind him, watching and waiting. It had been an unspoken conclusion among them: Wesley would go first. Even if Angel hadn't disappeared to who-knew-where, Wes would have been expected to approach the stack of papers before anyone else. Why was that?_

_Lilah was on the other side of the ornate little desk. "I must say," Lilah said, with the slightest hint of a grimace (or was he imagining it?), "I didn't think you'd even get this far. We all have our price, though. Who would have thought you'd sell your soul for a few extra resources?"_

_Wesley kept his voice low enough so that the rest of the gang behind him couldn't hear. "Would you really define it as 'selling', Lilah? 'Lending' would be a more accurate term, I think. Wolfram and Hart can't keep our souls forever. I've gone over the contracts a dozen times--"_

"_And the agreement only extends to five hundred years after your death," Lilah finished for him. "Not indefinitely. Very true. So five hundred years of agonizing torment is worth the chance to save an extra few hundred lives?"_

_Wesley met her eyes. "You thought the torment was worth it just to make your own life a little more comfortable. Given the choice all over again, would you still sign?"_

_Lilah grinned, but didn't answer._

This was Wesley's existence, and the reason he thought he was in Hell: memories. A continuous flood of memories, drowning him, crushing him, pulling him deeper and deeper.

_His mother stood over him with a warm, damp washcloth. Blood was dribbling down his chin and onto his grey tweed suit. Nothing short of the deepest magiks would be able to remove the stain. Ironic, really, considering the prudish outfit was the reason the older boys had attacked him as he innocently walked home from school. Four burly fifteen-year-olds against one scrawny third-grader._

"_Does the widdle kiddy think he's a lawyer?" one of them had teased as the others laughed and let loose with more punches and kicks. "Or a bleeding businessman, maybe! Where's your briefcase, you ponce? Eh?"_

The boy's face melted away, and in its place was Fred, smiling at him, sweetly as ever.

"_We should all go out tonight! To celebrate!" she exclaimed, looking around at the rest of the team._

"_Hell, yeah," answered Gunn. "I think I definitely deserve a reward after spending eighteen hours scoping out the place--"_

"_Excuse me," interrupted Angel from across the room, "but I believe _I_ killed the most vampires in that nest, so if anyone deserves a reward--"_

"_Come on, guys, it was a team effort. And there's no 'I' in 'team'. So let's hear it: who's up for Indian?" asked Fred._

_Lorne groaned. "Sorry, darling. My stomach just can't take anymore spicy foods tonight. There's bound to be some embarrassing noises and smells."_

"_We haven't had Italian in weeks," said Cordy, not even bothering to look up from her magazine._

"_But we always have to get dressed up for Italian," whined Gunn. "How about some place where we don't risk dripping marinara sauce onto a fifty-dollar shirt?"_

_Wesley spoke up. "You know, there's a terrific British eatery just down--"_

"_**No**," said everyone else all at once. Then they were all, even Wesley, laughing about the quality (or lack thereof) of British food, and Gunn was giggling at the term 'spotted dick' while Lorne stood at the counter, making himself a sea breeze._

_And as they all sat around, arguing about where they should go for the celebratory dinner (they'd eventually decide on McDonald's), Wesley knew he had finally found a place where he belonged, among a family of people who loved him and loved each other. And nothing could ever change that…._

But something had changed it. Wesley had changed it.

_The words had become a sort of mantra to him, repeated over and over inside his head: _The Father will kill the Son. The Father will kill the Son. The Father will kill the Son. _More constant than a heartbeat._

_Wesley watched across the room as Angel tossed Connor gently into the air, laughing as the baby gave the slightest giggle. But Wesley found no happiness in the situation. Instead, all he could do was think about how easy it would be for Angel to wrap his hand around the tiny neck and **snap.**_

_And though Wesley kept pushing the feeling to the back of his mind, he knew, deep down, that the only choice was betrayal._

_----------_

Lilah leaned back in her office chair and rubbed her eyes. A dead end. That's where everything was leading her.

The LA branch of Wolfram and Hart had yet to be reconstructed, and so Lilah was currently working in its neighboring division in San Francisco. She had known it was smaller, but Lilah had at least expected the services to be comparable to those of her old office. No such luck.

The psychics were completely stumped. They had no more clue than she did as to the whereabouts of Wesley's soul. The head of Mystical Studies had been almost as unhelpful. The only thing he had been able to offer her was a list of witches and warlocks.

According to the list, there were thirty-six real witches (or warlocks) in the state of California. Only eight of them possessed enough power to rip a soul out of the netherworld. Of those eight, only one, as far as Lilah knew, would have any reason to rescue Wesley's essence. But Willow Rosenberg was currently residing in Rio, and Lilah's sources informed her that Ms. Rosenberg had been in a state of astral projection at the time of the soul-heist. Suspect Number One was scratched off the list.

So Lilah demanded a more extensive register. The Mystics Department in turn sent her a list of all witches on the west coast. None checked out.

The list of witches residing on the entire North American continent had seemed promising for a time. It included a cult of warlocks in Denver that specialized in draining the essences of the dearly-departed and using the energy the souls provided for high-level Dark Spells.

When Lilah sent in Retrieval for questioning, however, the gang had provided a solid alibi. All fourteen of them were involved in an attempt to blackmail one of the areas wealthiest entrepreneurs by threatening to curse his family and his business. On the night Wesley's soul had vanished, they had been casting a vicious enchantment around the capitalist's home. Suspect Number Two was crossed off the list.

It would have been impossible to find a potential soul-thief on the list of witches in the entire world. There were several thousand, and quite a few of them had crossed paths with Wesley at one point in time or another. Several had even gone to boarding school or university with him.

Lilah had held out hope for somebody in the Watchers' Council, but everyone who might have had the manpower had met a crispy end when The First blew up their headquarters. Another dead end. Literally.

Lilah was quickly becoming frustrated. It was times like these that she almost wished Gavin were around, just so she'd have someone she could abuse. But, from what she heard, the Senior Partners had sent him to a hell-dimension where he was stranded on an island with a loving spouse and an enormous monster.

Personally, Lilah found the thought of a loving spouse more horrific than the monster.

_Lilah had never been one for the study of classic mythology. She felt school time was better spent learning how to sweet-talk the professors and administrators. But as she drove downtown to the symposium that was hosting Winifred Burkle's lecture on super-symmetry, hopelessly wishing Wesley wouldn't be there, one particular Greek myth surfaced in the corner of her mind._

_It was the only myth that had ever really piqued her interest. It was the story of Medea, the witch princess of Colchis. When Lilah had heard that Medea meant 'cunning one', she had instantly identified with the Greek sorceress._

_Medea eventually fell in love with Jason, the leader of the legendary band of Argonauts and a fighter for honor and justice. So profound was her passion for Jason that she betrayed her father and her countrymen, just to help Jason steal the legendary Golden Fleece._

_As Medea, Jason, and his crew fled from the Colchians by way of ship, Medea killed and dismembered her brother, casting the pieces into the sea. The Colchians were forced to stop and retrieve the body portions from the water, so as to give him a proper burial. Thus, Medea saved the Argonauts. All for love._

_But Jason abandoned her. Betrayed her for another woman. He fell in love with the princess Glauce and discarded Medea as if she were a vague, worthless memory._

_And as Lilah watched Wesley gaze ardently at the puny Texan up on the dais and listen to the mind-numbing prattle about physics, humiliation pulsed through her veins like so much poison. Lilah knew she'd been discarded. And she hated them both as she'd never hated before._

_But if she remembered anything about the myth, she remembered one thing: Medea had her revenge in the end._

"Ms. Morgan!" called a sing-song voice. Lilah shook herself from her reverie, and looked up to see the cheerleader-turned-secretary skipping into her office. "Oh, Ms. Mooorgaaan! The psychics say they have something for you."

Lilah was out of her chair in an instant, unceremoniously knocking the walking pom-pom (as she'd taken to calling the secretary) to the floor as she hurried to the elevator. After banging on the 'up' button about fifteen times, the doors parted and Lilah stepped inside. Several people marched forward as if to join her on the elevator. Lilah shot them the sort of look that kills, and they all mumbled that they would take the next one.

The psychics always insisted on being stationed on the top floor. Some garbage about "extending the clairvoyant vibes." So Lilah had to ascend fourteen stories before reaching their department.

When the elevator doors parted ever-so-slowly, Lilah stepped out into the hallway and strode to the office where she knew the chief psychic worked. She threw the door open without knocking.

"This had better be good," she said succinctly.

The psychic looked up from the map she had been studying, her eyes wide.

"We found him, ma'am."

-----More to come soon-----

A/N: Anyone care to guess who stole Wesley's soul? And for what purpose? Not that I've left many clues, but I'm sure someone could get it.

Reviews make me happy! Many thanks to cursedgirl, Rissa Rose, Ruth Quist, gopie, -J, irishred, and kittyge for the reviews thus far!

-J brought up a very interesting point. Would the Fang Gang have sold their souls? I tried to explain more about the contracts in this chapter, but out of curiosity, does anyone think the gang would have sold their souls for eternity?

Personally, I think Angel and Gunn would have. Angel for his son, and Gunn... well, we've already seen that Gunn would sell his soul for a truck (see "Double or Nothing"). I don't think he'd have any qualms about selling his soul for the chance to be the man he's always dreamed he could be.

I don't know about Wesley or Fred. I think they were probably smart enough to realize the full implications of an eternity of torture. But they were also very noble people, and they may very well have considered their souls a small price to pay for the lives of millions. Lorne is the only one I'm fairly certain _wouldn't_ have sold his eternal soul, mainly because he was raised in his own version of Hell. I don't think he'd be willing to go back there forever. He's probably the only one who realizes that a life is less important than a soul.

Wow, this was a very long Author's Note.


	3. A Neck is Such a Fragile Thing

Disclaimer: Wesley and Lilah belong to Mutant Enemy and 20th Century Fox. If they belonged to me, you can be darn sure they'd have their own spin-off show.

A/N the first: Sorry this chapter took so long. Anyway, for those of you who are easily bored by flashbacks (like my excellent beta-reader), I should probably warn you that this fic will have quite a bit of them for the purpose of character exploration. Don't worry, there will definitely be some action later on.

**Chapter Three: A Neck is Such a Fragile Thing**

"We found him, ma'am."

To say that Lilah was considerably under whelmed would be an overstatement. The psychic had obviously meant the declaration to be resounding and climactic. Yet, Lilah barely lifted an eyebrow.

"You'll forgive me if I appear less than convinced," she answered, every syllable exuding the deepest scorn. "But you psychics don't exactly have the greatest track record. Don't get me wrong. I thought it was hilarious when you predicted "Gigli" would win an Oscar--"

"We have spent the past three days casting our most powerful charms over this map, ma'am. I assure you that our findings are correct."

Lilah narrowed her eyes. "First of all: If you ever interrupt me again, I will have your fingers and toes cut off and used as ornaments for the next office Halloween party."

If the psychic were at all scared, she hid it well. Her eyes merely widened slightly.

"Second of all: Where?"

The psychic flipped the map around so that Lilah could see. "Here," she said, pointing towards the top of what Lilah thought looked like Southern France. "In Bordeaux." She moved the map aside, only to push another towards Lilah. "This is a map of Bordeaux. He's on this road here. Rue Montesquieu. I can get you an exact address--"

"Then get it. Pronto."

And in an instant, Lilah was headed out the door and back towards the elevator. When she returned to her temporary office, she immediately started barking orders at the secretary, who was waiting at the door and twirling a lock of her hair absent-mindedly. "Get on the phone to Oceanic. I need a first-class ticket to France. See if they have anything going directly to Bordeaux."

The secretary (_what was her name? Enid or Evelyn or something like that)_ jotted everything down perkily. "Oh, wow, first-class! I bet you'll meet some hot, rich businessman--"

"I don't meet men," Lilah retorted with a sneer. "Men meet me."

What's-her-name obviously had trouble understanding Lilah's meaning, so she just smiled vacantly. Lilah considered having her tortured. Anything to get that stupid dimwit out of her office.

"Just get it done." And with that, Lilah turned back to her desk and eased herself into the soft, leather chair. She needed to file several papers in order to depart on an overseas business trip.

The secretary, however, didn't leave. "This is all, like, so cool. I mean, France! All the shopping and stuff! So I guess you must have found that missing soul, right?"

Lilah was quickly running out of patience. "That," she said with a clear note of warning, "is absolutely none of your business."

"And that," answered the secretary, also with an unmistakable threat, "is where you are wrong, I'm afraid."

Lilah was shocked for a moment. The secretary's voice was no longer peppy and nauseating. Instead, it had grown deep and other-worldly. Lilah composed her face into an expression of nonchalance as the secretary's face melted away, as if she were nothing more than a wax statue. After a minute, all that was left of the faux-assistant was a puddle of skin-colored slime on the floor. In her place stood a Senior Partner.

"Master Ecnel'ovelam," Lilah intoned. "I must say, this is a lovely surprise."

"No need for flattery," said the demon, waving aside the pleasantry. "Tell me honestly. Was I a convincing airhead?"

"You certainly fooled me. I can't remember the last time I've been so annoyed."

Ecnel'ovelam grinned. "Excellent! I've been working on my shape-shifting and character-acting. I wasn't sure I could pull off 'cheery'. But that's beside the point." He fixed Lilah with a hard, calculating look. "I've come to check on the progress of our purloined soul. You said you're headed to France. Am I to assume Mr. Wyndam-Pryce's soul is currently residing there?"

"I'm just working off a hunch, sir," answered Lilah carefully. "The psychics aren't sure yet. I'm on my way to check it out."

"Best hurry along, then. I'm sure you understand the Senior Partners' restlessness in this matter. You can expect a few more visits until you've managed to find the soul. Patience is a virtue, so naturally…."

"You don't have any," Lilah finished for him. "Of course. I'll have everything together for you according to schedule. No worries, sir."

Ecnel'ovelam grinned wider, showing many rows of very sharp teeth. "I didn't say we were worried." And with that, he vanished in a flashy display of lightening and fire. Show-off.

Lilah leaned back in her chair, propping her feet up on the desk. So the Senior Partners were checking up on her. Making progress reports. She hadn't expected this. It would be quite a bit more difficult to hide Wesley's soul with the higher-ups breathing down her neck.

Why were they so fidgety, anyway? Surely one soul couldn't mean that much to them. Granted, Wesley had been a pivotal player in the destruction of the Black Thorn. No doubt the Senior Partners were readying his own private torture chamber, heating the coals and so forth. But to reanimate a dead employee, give her unlimited resources, and make frequent assessments of the situation? It all seemed a bit much.

Something clicked in Lilah's head. It wasn't about Wesley. Not entirely, at any rate. This was about _Angel._ The Senior Partners wanted revenge. And what better revenge than the torture of one of Angel's nearest and dearest?

Perhaps the Partners even planned to hold Wesley's soul for ransom. Angel was, after all, still missing. Wesley could be the perfect bait. It would be so easy to lure Angel into a trap….

Yes, it was all making sense to Lilah.

_There was a moment when it all made sense to Lilah._

_She was running down the empty corridor. Limping, really. The wound in her gut made it hard to progress very quickly. There was a painful stitch in her side, and her breath was catching. She could taste sweat and blood in the corner of her mouth._

_Nevertheless, adrenaline was keeping her moving at a steady pace away from the threat. Away from Angelus._

_Lilah wasn't used to relying on anyone to save her. Yet as she stumbled along the passageway, she couldn't help but pray that Wesley would swoop in and rescue her, the way he had rescued her from the Beast at the Wolfram and Hart slaughter. If she had time to consider the feeling, she probably would have cursed herself for becoming some stereotypical damsel-in-distress._

_Out of nowhere, a hand came at her throat, the same way Wesley's hand had choked her so many months ago. For a moment, she was sure it was Angelus, ready to maul her, torture her, kill her. But Lilah blinked, and the face before her was not that of her least favorite vampire. It was Cordelia, and Lilah breathed a very small sigh of relief. Safe for now._

"_He's gonna kill us." It was all Lilah could manage, and all she could think to say._

_Cordelia's face remained blank, though her eyes were piercing. "I know."_

_And in that instant, Lilah understood everything. The pieces came together in her mind. Cordelia was the Beast's Master. She had ordered the attack on Wolfram and Hart. She had released Angelus. And she was going to murder Lilah._

_In less than a second, Cordelia was raising a rough dagger over her head. If Lilah had a moment more to react, perhaps even if she'd been in better health, she might have been able to block the strike or move out of its path in time. But she was tired, and wounded, and shocked, and scared. And there just wasn't enough time._

_The blade pierced the side of Lilah's neck as if she were little more than a pillow. Pain exploded in her head. Her vision blurred, and she felt her legs give out. Lilah's body hit the floor with hard thump. As the blood rushed through the gaping hole in her throat, her weakening heartbeat only serving to pump the life out of her more quickly, Lilah thought about how she had failed herself._

_She could just make out the hazy shape of Cordelia (or whatever it was masquerading as Cordelia). She was speaking to Lilah. What was she saying? Was she insulting her? Yes, something about being a 'stupid bitch'._

I'm not stupid,_ Lilah thought as she breathed her last. _I figured it out before anyone else.

----------

_Wesley was panicking. It had been a long time since he'd panicked. _

_Lilah was wounded, perhaps fatally. The Beast was only a few meters behind them, his massive hooves pounding steadily. He could catch up to them any moment. And if that happened, there was no telling how many pieces they would be when he was done with them._

_He had a nine-millimeter strapped to his hip, but he already knew how ineffective his bullets were against the colossal stone creature. His only chance was the grenade in his jacket pocket._

_After the explosion, he grabbed Lilah and moved as quickly as possible down the hall. He could still hear the Beast behind them. The grenade hadn't slowed him down as much as Wesley had hoped. And there just wasn't enough time._

_He could have left Lilah behind. It would have given him a chance to escape. But he wasn't in this hellhole for nothing. He had come to rescue her, even if she didn't want him to do so._

Something was pulling at Wesley. He felt a terribly strange sensation, as if he were being poured into a glass. What was happening? His dreams were becoming cloudy….

_As a boy, he wasn't particularly fond of physical activities. He couldn't swim, he didn't have the proper coordination for ball, and he was probably the slowest runner in his class._

_But there was a tree behind his house. A large, beautiful oak. Wesley loved it. And when he grew tired of being cooped up inside with nothing to do but study, he would often climb up the tree and look out over the grounds. He was always amazed at how grand everything looked from the very highest branches._

_One day, as he sat up in the middle of the oak, he spotted a suspicious looking clump of twigs. As he climbed over to it, branch by branch, it became clear what the bundle was. A nest. And snuggled on top was a pretty little bird._

_Wesley was allergic to most animals. Those few that didn't cause him to erupt into gales of sneezing usually didn't take too kindly to him. More often than not, he would be on the receiving end of a vicious bite or scratch._

_And yet, this plump little Goldfinch let him approach without attacking. Wesley was even able to reach out a finger and stroke the top of her head. He counted six pale blue eggs beneath her._

_Wesley made a habit of visiting the bird's nest every day. Whenever he was chastised by his father, whenever he grew bored with the musty house, he would run outside and climb the tree. He desperately wanted to see the eggs hatch, which would no doubt be any day._

_One morning, Wesley awoke to a loud **thwack** on his bedroom window. He walked over, bleary-eyed, to see what had caused the sound. Had someone thrown a rock? But he could see no one on the grounds from his position on the third floor. So he threw on a dressing gown and slippers, and he marched down the stairs and out the door._

_It was his bird. His cute little Goldfinch. Lying dead on the ground. For some reason, she had seen fit to leave her nest and fly straight into his window. Her neck must have broken on impact._

_And Wesley sat beside her and cried as only a seven-year-old can cry. Great, heaving sobs that racked his body. The grass was staining the seat of his clothes, but Wesley didn't care. The bird's eggs were due to hatch soon. And now they never would._

_After almost half an hour of weeping, a plan began to form in Wesley's brain. His father was a Watcher. He had hundreds upon hundreds of scrolls detailing magical incantations. Surely there would be something there…._

_So Wesley waited until his father had left the house later that morning. He then snuck down to his father's study, which was in the basement of the East Wing. He carefully pulled books off of the shelves, searching for any sort of resurrection spell. Most of the titles were in dead or demonic languages, but Wesley spoke nearly all of them._

_After two hours of searching the large office, Wesley found an ancient scroll: "Handbook of the Undead". Most of it was useless garbage about raising zombie armies to take over the world. But at the bottom was a spell that sounded very promising._

_So Wesley returned to the area under his bedroom window where the carcass of the bird remained. He knelt beside her and made all the proper markings in the dirt. And he began to read the spell._

_No sooner had he read the first line, however, than a large hand grasped his shoulder. Wesley spun around, thinking that the gardener must have spotted him across the lawn. But the face that met him was that of his father, returned home early._

_And so Wesley's father marched him into the house and rebuked him for fifteen minutes. "This spell is dangerous," he explained. "You probably would have exploded your brains. The power would have overwhelmed you. And even if you were an expert sorcerer, a resurrection spell is one of the most dangerous things you could attempt. There's no guarantee that the thing you're raising will be the same as you would hope."_

_Later that night, after Wesley had cried all he could for the bird that had meant more to him than his precious books, he wondered what it would be like to be sucked back into life after death had taken you. What would it be like to be resurrected?_

And as the memory faded, Wesley felt his body form, felt his heart beat, felt himself breath for the first time in a week. He was alive.

-----More to Come-----

The guesses so far, here and on Giles(2 votes), Ethan(1), Dawn(1), Willow(2), Cordy(2), and Andrew(1).

Many thanks to cursedgirl, Rissa Rose (_I actually considered making the secretary Harmony)_, Ruth Quist, gopie, -J, irish6red, kittyge, WesLess (_I'll definitely explain Lilah's agenda soon)_, Luckysparkle, torontokid2003, and greensleeves8 for the reviews thus far.

Happy Easter everyone!


	4. Can't Stop the Shaking

Disclaimer: Hey, Mutant Enemy and 20th Century Fox! I'll trade you! My evil cat for your Angel characters! Whaddya say?

**Chapter Four: Can't Stop the Shaking**

Wesley was alive.

It took a moment for this fact to register with him. He was lying flat on his back, his limbs shaking and his breath hitching. There was a most terrible pain in the side of his torso. At first, Wesley thought it was the wound from Cyvus Vail's knife. Then he realized it was from his lungs.

_Breathe,_ he thought. _I need to breathe. Air. **Air!**_

His first breath was a rattling, deep gasp. The pain in his chest eased, thought he was still unable to think clearly. He eyes were wide open. He took no notice of his surroundings.

Wesley tried exhaling, but found he could only cough. His throat was burning. And, for some reason, he couldn't stop his arms from trembling.

_Wesley's arms were trembling, though he didn't allow the others to see. He stared at the congealed blood that pooled on the floor around Lilah. He could almost see shapes in the blood splatters, the way you might see shapes in clouds._

Another deep breath. And another. Wesley's vision was blurred. Yet, he could vaguely make out a shape in the corner of his left eye. The shape was moving. Approaching him. A person? Wesley tried to focus his eyes on the blob, but all he got for his efforts was a shooting pain in his temple.

The blob gently placed a hand on Wesley's arm. Wesley turned his head to get a better look at the hand. Useless, as the hand was hidden in a black glove. Now that his vision was clearing, Wesley could tell that the person was wrapped in a dark magician's cloak, and his or her face was hidden by the hood.

"Wesley." The blob spoke in a rough whisper that Wes couldn't place. "Wesley, you're back. Are you--"

Whoever-it-was broke off abruptly and looked up from where Wesley lay. Had he/she/it heard something? Wesley listened hard, but his hearing seemed as weakened as his vision. Suddenly, the cloaked figure turned and ran out of Wesley's line-of-sight.

Wesley tried raising his head to look around. His neck, however, was apparently too weak. He lay there, on the rough table, for several seconds, trying to stop his body from quaking. An aftereffect of whatever resurrection spell had been used on him, no doubt. He was still finding it hard to breathe.

After a minute, Wesley heard something. _Click, click, click._ The sound of heals on an concrete floor in a large, empty room. Someone was running towards him…. Perhaps the reason the hooded figure had fled?

And now, there was another blob standing over him. Differently shaped with feminine features and dark hair. For one heart-stopping moment, Wesley was sure it was Fred. But then she spoke.

"Well," she said. "I must say: This is unexpected."

That voice….

_Sign it, as proof. Think about who you're really mad at. The worst spot in Hell is reserved for those who betray. You're a son of bitch, you know that? Don't worry, lover, I didn't feel a thing. That's why we never would have worked out. What was it like when she cut you?_

_It means something that you tried._

So many memories connected with one person. One woman.

"Lilah," rasped Wesley, before passing out.

----------

"Wesley," Lilah's voice echoed in the abandoned warehouse. "Wesley, wake up."

Lilah had pushed aside the shock she'd felt at finding Wesley alive. Instead, she concentrated on analyzing this unanticipated situation. She had just pulled open the door of the warehouse in France where the psychics had informed her Wesley's soul was being held, when she saw a dark figure bending over a table on the far side of the room. As she had approached, the individual had run off and exited out the back of the warehouse. She saw movement on the table and found Wesley, shaking, naked, and looking all-too-delirious.

And now, she was doing her best to rouse him from his faint. "Wesley," she called yet again, this time slapping him rather roughly across the cheek. He opened his eyes blearily. "There you are. Come on, Wes, time to wake up." Another slap seemed to snap him into consciousness. He blinked and shook his head as if trying to wave away the last vestiges of drowsiness.

"Hey," said Lilah. She wasn't exactly sure what she should do in this type of situation. Was it better to have him sit up or stay down? Did he need water? For some strange reason, 'resurrection' hadn't been a discussed topic in her high school first-aid class.

"Are you all right? Do you recognize me, Wesley?"

"Mother?" he asked hazily . Lilah found this most disturbing, for obvious reasons. Did she honestly look that old?

"No, Wes, it's--"

"Lilah," he answered, more clearly. "Yes, of course, I don't…. Sorry, I--"

"It's okay. Do you feel well? Do you… need anything?"

"Cold," he murmured. "I'm cold."

Lilah wasn't ready for this. It was summer, and she hadn't brought a blanket or worn a coat. She had nothing to throw over him. So she began rubbing his arms, trying to get his circulation going.

"No," he said. "Hot. I feel hot."

"Dammit, Wesley, make up your mind."

Wesley coughed in response, and turned onto his side.

"Can you sit up?" Lilah asked.

"I don't know. Everything feels weak." Nevertheless, Wesley pushed up unsteadily with his arms. Lilah did her best to help him, and eventually he sat hunched forward with his legs hanging over the table. He went into another round of coughing.

"Is this Hell?" he asked, looking around. "Am I dead? I don't feel dead; I'm breathing, aren't I? But the knife… it was a mortal wound--"

"You're not dead," Lilah responded. "Or, if you are, you must be a very intelligent, life-like zombie. But I'm pretty sure you're alive." She grinned. "At least, you're certainly more alive than I am."

Wesley looked at her. "How? How am I back? I know I died. I felt my heart stop."

"We'll have time to answer that six-million-dollar question later. Right now, I think we should get somewhere a bit safer." Lilah looked around at the musty warehouse. "And cleaner."

She helped Wesley off the table and into a standing position. No sooner was he on his feet, however, than he was falling backwards, reaching towards the table for support. Lilah caught him before he dropped, and pulled his arm around her shoulders. He leaned heavily on her as she moved slowly towards the door.

An hour later, Lilah was parking her rented car outside the resort in which she had been staying. Wesley was curled up in the backseat, still shaking. Lilah must have adjusted the temperature two dozen times trying to get him comfortable. Nothing had helped.

So she left Wesley in the car and rushed up to her room long enough to grab a terry-cloth robe. She pushed people out of her way as she raced back down the hallway to the elevator. The fact was starting to sink in: Wesley was alive.

_Wesley was alive. Lilah was surprised at how much relief this fact brought. She had been sure he and the rest of Angel's puppy-dog-saving gang would have been out in the middle of the rain of fire, fighting whatever Big Bad had executed it._

_She had spent the night at Wolfram and Hart, camping out on the floor of her office and staring out the window at the plummeting fireballs. Many thoughts turned over in her head. Mostly worrisome ones. Which was odd, as Lilah had made it a rule never to worry about anyone except herself._

_But Wesley was alive and relatively unhurt. She hovered in his doorway, staring at him. He stared back. Lilah hesitated for a moment, before stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him. It was a testament of how much she had grown to care for him over the months, because the only other person she had ever hugged was her mother._

_But instead of returning the embrace, Wesley's entire body stiffened. Lilah should have known that instant. Known what was coming. And perhaps, deep down, she did. But hopeless wishing blinded her to the inevitable. _

People gave Wesley strange looks in the elevator. Not surprising, considering he was wrapped in nothing but a robe and shaking like a leaf. Not to mention he was putting almost all of his weight on Lilah.

When they got to Lilah's room, Wesley immediately fell onto the bed. Lilah got him a glass of water and waited until he had finished it before interrogating him.

"Feeling better?" she asked.

Wesley gave an almost imperceptible nod, though Lilah noticed he was still trembling slightly.

"Are you hungry?"

"No. Not really," he whispered.

"What do you remember?"

Wesley stared at her. "Remember about what?"

"What do you remember since you died?"

Wesley sat back against the bedpost and stared at the ceiling. "I don't know. I think I was dreaming. No, I was recalling… different parts of my life. Then I felt a strange sensation. I woke up on a table with someone standing over me. Then you came."

"You didn't recognize the person?" Lilah asked. Wesley shook his head.

"Was it a man or woman?"

"I don't know."

"Human or demon?"

"I don't know."

"Tall or short?"

"I don't know."

"Thanks, Wes. You've been a real help."

Wesley seemed agitated. "Look," he snapped, "it was dark, and the person was cloaked, and in case you didn't notice, I was disoriented. You'll pardon me if my resurrection clouded my senses a bit. And I--" He went silent, and started blinking rapidly.

Lilah frowned. "Yes? You what?"

Wesley looked like he was having trouble speaking. "I… I thought you were Fred." And he turned on his side and started crying into one of the pillows. Lilah couldn't help but feel hurt that Wesley had been disappointed to see her. He had wanted Winifred Burkle. Not Lilah Morgan.

But she pushed the feeling aside just enough to notice that while Wesley's body was heaving with sobs, he had finally stopped shaking.

-----More to Come-----

You know the drill: review, review, review. Let me know what you did or didn't like about this chapter. A thousand thank-you's to kittyge, gopie, -J, greensleeves8, irish6red, Ruth Quist, WesLess, Rissa Rose, torontokid2003, Luckysparkle, cursedgirl, Beer Good, redmoon, and jords for the reviews thus far!

The guesses: Willow, Giles, Ethan, Dawn, Andrew, Illyria, Angel, and Faith. I suppose it's only fair to narrow things down a little. So, as a hint of sorts, it isn't Willow or Ethan. I'll narrow it down again next chapter.


	5. Great Mines Think Alike

Disclaimer: Wesley, Lilah, and Minesweeper do not belong to me. Although they should, considering the amount of time I spend with them.

**Chapter Five: Great Mines Think Alike**

"_Thank you for flying Oceanic Airlines. This is your captain speaking. As of now, our flight is on schedule, and we are expected to touch down in approximately four hours. Please enjoy the rest of your journey."_

Wesley cringed as the overhead intercom gave a small amount of feedback. Everything felt more abrasive to his senses since he'd come back. The numerous conversations between people sitting in first-class were like hammer poundings to his ears. The lights were glaring; the fabric of his seat was harsh. It was almost as if he had a permanent hangover. Wesley longed for a dark, quiet room. One bed, no people. Or maybe one particular person.

Lilah was sitting next to him, her laptop sitting on the tray table in front of her. She was typing unremittingly, her fingers flying over the keys. An hour ago, Wesley had foolishly asked what she was doing, while trying to sneak a peek at the screen.

"Mind your own damn business," she had replied, while smacking his hand rather painfully away from the computer. So Wesley had gone back to staring out of the window of the plane. There was no point, really. They were on an overnight flight. Everything outside was too dark . But Wesley didn't mind staring out at the gloom. It was oddly comforting to see an environment that emulated his mood in such a way. The cheeriness of the plane's interior was not so soothing.

"You know, if I had wanted to take a long plane ride with a brooding dullard, I would have brought Angel along for the ride."

Wesley shook himself from his reverie. "What?"

"You haven't said a word in three hours." Lilah wasn't looking at him. She was still working on her computer… or not, apparently. Instead of the word processor on which she had been focusing her attentions for most of the flight, she had switched to a game of Minesweeper.

"Don't click on that one," he warned her, pointing to one of the blocks. "It might be a mine. You've only found one of them by that number two--"

"I can play my own game, thanks."

There was another minute or two of silence between them while Lilah worked on the game. She lost after hitting a mine in the corner of the board. There had been only four left of the ninety-nine. Lilah uttered a few rude things about the game.

"I don't suppose you have FreeCell on there?"

Lilah gave him a sly look. "I would have pegged you more for a Solitaire kinda guy."

Wesley heaved a sigh. "You know, Lilah, the alone jokes stopped being clever when my friends forgave me and let me back in."

"Oh, did they forgive you? I was rather under the impression that they tolerated you just enough to use your expertise. I mean, were the words 'we forgive you' ever spoken? Or maybe forgiveness is one of those boring _good_ things that doesn't need to be spoken. I can never keep track."

Wesley ignored her.

"Ah, come on, Wes. It's no fun if you don't play the sparring game."

Wesley was going to respond, but it was then that a stewardess came around to offer them a choice of meals.

"As if I'd eat that vegetarian garbage. Give me the shrimp," declared Lilah. She turned to Wesley. "You, too?"

"Oh, no. I'm allergic."

"Figured," Lilah said, rolling her eyes.

Wesley shook his head. "I'm not particularly hungry. Perhaps something light?" he asked the stewardess.

She smiled. "How about a peanut butter sandwich, dear?" Wesley had trouble hiding his wince. "Or some tomato soup?"

"Tomato soup would be nice, thank you."

After the stewardess had poured another cup of tea for Wesley, she turned to Lilah. Her smile gave way and her tones became clipped; Lilah had not exactly endeared herself to the staff during the flight. "Another martini for you, ma'am?"

"Of course," responded Lilah, not bothering to look up from her next game of Minesweeper.

_Wesley would have never suspected that Lilah harbored such a passion for Minesweeper. He discovered it after they'd been "together" for a couple of weeks. Lilah had stopped by his flat for the night._

_There was the usual temptation speech. Then the banter. Then the sex. They had both fallen asleep, sore and exhausted. When Wesley awoke, Lilah was gone from the bed. At first, he thought she had left. No surprise. She rarely stayed long._

_But he noticed her clothes were still strewn about the room. Wesley rolled over and looked towards the bathroom. Empty. So he got up and trudged out to the living room. Wesley didn't see her at first; the room was dark, and his vision was still blurry with sleep. The only light came from his computer, sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch. Which, incidentally, was where he spotted Lilah._

_She sat on the couch, her face illuminated by the glow of the computer. She was staring at it, enraptured and unblinking. There was only one explanation: She was accessing his personal files. Wesley was furious._

"_What the hell do you think you're doing!" he exclaimed, stumbling over the rug as he raced towards her. He snatched the laptop off the table, ignoring Lilah as she called him various offensive names. "I should have known you'd stoop to something like this." He put the computer on the kitchen counter to see what she had found. "Slipping out of bed to access my… Minesweeper?"_

_He stopped, flabbergasted. Lilah got off the couch and stormed over to where he stood at the counter. "You idiot! You've ruined my time!"_

"_Sorry! I'm just a little… surprised."_

_She stopped glaring, and allowed herself a small smile. "Why? Is Minesweeper not evil enough for someone like me?"_

_Wesley strode to one of the cabinets where he stored his scotch. "I don't care. It's about time you left, anyway. Go play your game at the office."_

_Lilah was taking the computer back to the couch. She sat and propped her feet up on the coffee table. "Can't. We're not allowed to play computer games. Linwood feels our competitiveness is better channeled against each other."_

"_Then use your home computer," said Wesley, yawning. He didn't really care about Minesweeper or anything else, but arguing with Lilah was becoming a way of life to him._

_Lilah shook her head. "The company taps into our personal computers. Can't risk my "family" casting me out over one small sin, now can I?" Her face went from apathetic to devilish in an instant. "You'd know a little something about that, though, wouldn't you?"_

_Wesley downed a shot of scotch, ignoring Lilah's jab. "Are you coming back to bed or not?"_

_Lilah waved her hand dismissively, as if she were an empress and he were a loyal subject. "No. I'm not leaving till I beat my best time." She played for a couple of minutes before hitting the table and cursing the computer. "Dammit! I hit the wrong square!"_

_If Lilah were ever this angry, Wesley certainly couldn't remember it. "This is pathetic. Why do you even bother?"_

_Lilah's anger faded, to be replaced by a look Wesley liked even less. It was the look of a hawk that was considering a particularly plump field mouse. "I thought you would have figured it out by now, Wes. I can't resist a challenge."_

Wesley squeezed through the middle of a group of teenagers. The airport was uncomfortably crowded, and he was having trouble keeping up with Lilah as she maneuvered through the throng. She elbowed a couple of elderly people out of her way at the baggage claims, and pulled two heavy bags off the belt. Wesley carried them for her.

"Ever the gentleman," Lilah said softly as they made their way outside.

To be honest, Wesley wouldn't have grabbed both of them if he had known how heavy they were. Although, he wasn't about to admit this fact.

"Why did you bring so many clothes if you were only planning to stay in France long enough to retrieve my soul?" Wesley asked, trying not to groan from the aching in his shoulders.

Lilah was hailing a cab. "Those aren't just clothes, handsome. One of those suitcases contains a little bit of firepower. You know, in case I found myself in a tricky situation."

"How did you get them past security?"

"Do you really need to ask? I had one of the mystics cast a few spells."

A taxi pulled up to the curb, and Wesley slung the suitcases into the trunk while Lilah eased into the backseat. Wesley made to follow her, but she remained on the open side of the cab, blocking his way.

"Probably best to take separate cars," she said.

"What?" asked Wesley, taken aback. "Why?"

Lilah looked at him as if he were stupid. "I told you before. The higher-ups are keeping tabs on me. They've no doubt got my hotel under surveillance. They don't know you're back, so let's just keep it that way. No one's going to be looking for you, since they all think you're dead. You can sneak in a few hours after me. The Calypso Resort, Room 237."

She slammed the car door, and the cab sped off.

----------

Lilah paced the room anxiously. Wesley was taking longer than she thought he would. She had arrived at the hotel almost two hours ago. Perhaps he'd taken her insistence on covertness to heart, and he was waiting for the hotel to become more crowded, when he'd have a better chance of blending in.

Or perhaps something had happened to him. Lilah wrung her hands and looked out of the window. What if the Senior Partners had discovered that he had been re-embodied? She should have been more careful. Hadn't Ecnel'ovelam proven himself a master of disguise? He could have been anyone at that airport… maybe even that smelly bum she had kicked in the ankle. He would have seen Wesley plain as day.

Or perhaps Wesley had deserted her. She had certainly given him enough money to get out of town. And there was really nothing for him in Los Angeles. Yes, the more Lilah considered it, the more she was sure Wesley had abandoned her.

"_Men will always abandon you, honey," said Lilah's mother as she finished her smoothie. "Always. Your father abandoned you. Your step-father abandoned you. Is it really any surprise that this, uh… what's-his-name…._

"_Raoul, Mom," responded Lilah. _

"_Right, is it any surprise that Raoul abandoned you as well?"_

"_Of course not, Mom," said Lilah around a mouthful of strawberry yogurt. She didn't really care about Raoul or any of the guys she had dated. But her mother would always take things like this personally._

"_No. Because men are unreliable. They turn tail at the first sign of trouble. Now, ambition: that's something that you can't lose. It's the only thing you can count on. Forget about marriage. It's worthless. Stick with your ambitions, Lilah. They'll always steer you right."_

"_But what about true love?"_

_Lilah's mother leveled a hard gaze at her daughter. "That's nothing but hopeless wishing. Trust me, Lilah. Never, **ever** fall in love. It would be your ultimate failure. It would be your destruction."_

Lilah jumped as a loud **thump** came from the window. She turned, only to find Wesley standing on her balcony, hunched over and panting. She threw open the glass door.

"Did you just climb the wall?" she asked as he clutched a stitch in his side.

He panted for a few more moments before his breathing slowed. "Obviously," he responded. "I thought it best to err on the side of caution. A difficult feat, to be sure--"

"Oh, please. We're only on the second floor."

"Well, let's see you do it, then," snapped Wesley.

Lilah got him a glass of water as he sat on the bed. He drained it in three gulps.Despite the faint odor of sweat emanating from him, Lilah couldn't help but notice how good Wesley smelled. It was a scent she had greatly missed.

She shook her head, trying to clear away the thoughts that would surely lead to a bad place. "Care to discuss your plans?" she asked Wesley.

He looked confused. "Plans? For what?"

"For what you're going to do now."

Wesley looked away. "I hadn't really given it much thought," he said. "I suppose I'll start where I left off. Fighting the good fight."

Lilah rolled her eyes. "Yes, we can't have the poor widdle puppies and kitties go another day without being rescued. Angel would be so disappointed. Speaking of which, are you planning on going after him and his band of merry men?"

Wesley shook his head. "I don't think so. Not now. If the Senior Partners are really planning to use me to get to him, as you say, I think it's best if I just stay away." He closed his eyes.

Lilah waited expectantly. "And?" she asked, losing patience.

"And what? That's all," Wesley responded.

"And what about whoever took your soul and resurrected you? Don't you plan to investigate? Aren't you curious who did it?"

Wesley considered for a moment. "No," he said nonchalantly. "Not really."

Lilah was astounded. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Here I was, thinking it was kind of an important issue. Silly me."

Wesley leaned back on the bed. "It's not important because it was probably a mistake. I've studied resurrection spells. There are an infinite number of ways they can go wrong. More often than not, the wrong soul is retrieved. I imagine whoever resurrected me was trying to resurrect somebody else."

Lilah almost believed him. But she had been around criminals and attorneys for years, and she was pretty skilled at knowing when someone was lying to her. She saw it in the way Wesley averted his eyes for a fraction of an instant. There was something he wasn't telling her.

She would have questioned him about it further, but at that moment, the window shattered and a bullet hit the wall, inches from Lilah's head.

-----More to Come-----

A/N: I have never flown on an airplane before, so pardon any inaccuracies on that front.

Much like the game of Minesweeper, reviews are very addictive. Please feed my habit. Many thanks to kittyge, WesLess, Ruth Quist, gopie, irish6red, kiwilass, -J, greensleeves8, Rissa Rose, torontokid2003, Luckysparkle, cursedgirl, Beer Good, jords, and redmoon for the reviews thus far. You guys are the best!

Now for the elimination process: 1) Faith didn't steal Wesley's soul, nor did she resurrect him. Sorry, I like her, too. But I'm afraid I wouldn't write her very well. 2) I really hate to shoot this one down, since an astounding amount of people seemed to be hoping for it, but it's not Giles. Keep guessing!


	6. Debris

Disclaimer: Wesley and Lilah do not belong to me. They belong to Mutant Enemy and 20th Century Fox. :grumble, grumble:

**Chapter Six: Debris**

The glass from the shattered window had not even struck the carpeted floor before Wesley was on her, pushing her down behind the bed where they'd have some cover. It took a moment for Lilah to realize his incentive for doing this. After all, it was only one bullet, and it had missed her. Shouldn't they be running out the door?

Then, in a split second, Lilah realized exactly _why_ they needed some cover. It wasn't just one bullet after all. No sooner had they landed on the floor with a painful **thump** than the room was filled with the sound of hundreds of bullets striking the wall, the pictures, the television….

_A submachine gun, _thought Lilah. _Someone's firing at us with a damn submachine gun._

Her ribs were aching from Wesley's weight. He was on top of her, covering her protectively. But Lilah could still feel glass falling into her hair.

_There was glass in Lilah's hair. Under her nails. On her eyelashes. She put her hands to her face, in hopes of protecting herself from the tiny shards that were tumbling all around her. But there were billions, glistening like all the stars in the night sky._

_Within moments, she was standing in glass fragments up to her ankles. Then up to her knees. Her waist. Lilah couldn't move. The pile of broken bits grew higher and higher, all around her. The torrent was endless. So much glass, and yet Lilah remained uncut._

_She tried to keep her mouth shut as the pile of glass covered her face. But minutes without air forced her lips open in a gasping reaction. The shards flooded into her mouth and down her throat. She was suffocating on bits of broken glass…._

_Lilah awoke as suddenly as if she had been stabbed in the gut. She took a few shuddering breaths to make sure her lungs still worked properly. And to make sure they weren't filled with specks of glass. Wesley was still asleep beside her. It was the first time he had come to her apartment._

_Lilah only had one recurring dream. It always began the same. She would be standing in the middle of a huge room composed almost entirely of frosted windows. Lilah could never see what was outside. Then, something would happen to make the windows shatter. Sometimes a loud, piercing noise broke the panes. Or perhaps birds would fly into them. More often than not, however, the windows were broken by a large, rock hand._

_Whatever way the windows broke, the end of the dream was always the same. A fierce wind would sweep through the damaged house, lifting the glass shards into the air like a cyclone and setting them down in a pile around Lilah. She would awake just before she actually died from the suffocation._

_Lilah very rarely felt any regrets about joining Wolfram and Hart. They had given her money and a job she loved. Her mother was ensured of comfort in her twilight years because of the great law firm. But for some unknown reason, after awakening from the dreams of broken glass, Lilah would always feel an uneasy twinge of remorse about her employment. It was as if a part of her suspected that, somehow, Wolfram and Hart had wrecked her life, and would only continue to destroy her._

_The last time Lilah ever had the dream was the night before Cordelia killed her. Instead of the birds or the sound or the large rock hand, the windows were broken by a vicious-looking dagger made of stone. The glass swirled around her, as usual. For the first time, however, she felt the glass cut her. Her hands and her face remained unharmed, but there were bits of blood flying from her neck. Why her neck?_

_And as the glass shards flood into her mouth and coated her throat, she was finally able to look out of the broken windows. She saw Wesley standing outside, holding a large axe in front of a table. He looked as if he'd given up everything that had meant anything to him._

"_I'm sorry, Lilah," he said to the table. And as he swung the axe up over his head, Lilah's world went black. For the first time in any of her dreams, she suffocated before awakening._

Whoever was shooting at them must have realized they had taken cover behind the bed, for the bullets were now hitting the mattress and wall just above them. If the torrent kept up for much longer, Wesley and Lilah were bound to get hit eventually.

_Crap,_ thought Lilah. _This wasn't part of the plan at all._

Suddenly, Wesley pushed himself off of Lilah and rushed across the room, taking cover behind the wardrobe. How he failed to have his head blown off, Lilah didn't have a clue. But he seemed unharmed. He was… opening one of her suitcases.

Lilah was baffled. "What the hell are you doing!" she shouted over the unending cacophony. "You're unpacking _**now**!"_

Wesley flung her clothes aside. "The guns! You said one of the suitcases had guns!"

Lilah felt stupid for a moment. She had completely forgotten about her safety net. "The other one!" she yelled. "Over by the sink!"

Wesley glanced over to where she pointed. Lilah knew it was useless, however. There was absolutely no cover to be had by the sink. Wesley wouldn't get two feet before taking half a dozen bullets in his back. It would be suicide.

But this was Wesley. Which was why Lilah wasn't a bit surprised when he bolted from behind the wardrobe and sprinted, hunched over with his hands over his head, towards the sink. Amazingly, he made it to the suitcase unscathed. He grabbed it, turned, and dived for the bathroom.

That was when his incredible luck ran out. A bullet sang through the air and caught him in the side of his right arm. He gave a cry of pain before landing on the bathroom floor and out of Lilah's line-of-sight.

"Wesley!" Lilah shouted. Fear tore at her heart. Unthinkingly, she started to rise from behind the bed. But Wesley called out to her from the bathroom.

"Stay there!" he yelled. "I'm fine. Just stay under cover."

Lilah breathed a very small sigh of relief. Injured, but alive. The gunfire wasn't stopping, however. _Sheesh,_ thought Lilah, _don't they have to run out of bullets sometime?_

After half a minute, Wesley emerged from the bathroom cradling an automatic shotgun. Lilah tried very hard not to get aroused at the sight. And failed. Wesley took careful aim towards the window and began firing rounds. Whoever had been shooting at them immediately stopped. Apparently he or she hadn't expected return gunfire. Wesley fired several more shots before peering through the window.

All was silent, except for Lilah's ears, which were ringing annoyingly. Bits of fluff from the mattress and pillows were floating in the air like so many snowflakes. Sparks were coming from some damaged wires in the broken television. A picture swung crookedly on the wall. Lilah couldn't even tell what the picture had portrayed.

Wesley kept his eyes trained outside through the window. "I think they've gone," he said softly. "Are you all right?"

"I think my four-hundred-dollar suit is ruined. But other than that, yes," responded Lilah.

"Good. We have to get out of here," he said, backing away from the window, though his eyes and his shotgun barrel never left it.

"What? I thought you said they were gone."

"I don't see them where I think they were. But they could very easily be waiting out-of-sight. Let's get into the hallway."

He held a hand out to her to help her up. Lilah was about to take it when she saw the blood dripping from his fingertips.

"Your arm--" she said, concerned.

"It's fine. Come on," Wesley said firmly.

He helped her up, and they made their way quickly to the door. They had just stepped out into the hallway when Lilah realized she had forgotten her purse. All her papers, her credit card…. She turned to go back into the hotel room, but Wesley snatched her arm before she could cross the threshold.

"What are you doing? You can't go back in there!"

Lilah raised an eyebrow. "I've got news for you, John Wayne. We're not going to be able to get a hotel room without some money. So, the way I see it, we have three options. One: We can sleep out in the gutters. And whoever just tried to kill us can walk right up and blow our brains out. Two: You can strip dance at a bar for money. But somehow, I doubt you happen to have a G-string. Three: You can let me run in and get my purse. Personally, I pick option number two."

Wesley took his hand off of her arm. "Fine," he sighed. "Make it quick."

Lilah gave him a fleeting wink before she cautiously reentered the room. She hadn't seen such a mess since the Beast had wrecked Wolfram and Hart. The housekeeper was going to be in for quite a shock.

Lilah spotted her purse on the floor beside an overturned table. Much to her chagrin, it had been on the receiving end of quite a few bullets. She picked it up and anxiously flipped through it, praying that her credit card was unharmed. She breathed a sigh of relief. Miraculously, it remained bullet-hole free.

And it wasn't the only thing…. Lilah frowned as her fingers found an unfamiliar note folded neatly in half. She opened it and read:

Ms. Morgan,

I hope this letter finds you well and refreshed from your visit to France. I am writing to request your presence at the CEO office room at the San Francisco branch of Wolfram and Hart this Tuesday at noon. It pertains to matters regarding the disembodied soul (or lack thereof) of Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. Please do not be late.

Most sincerely,

Master Ecnel'ovelam

Lord of Discord and Vengeance

Senior Partner to Wolfram and Hart

King of the Eighth Circle

P.S. Come alone.

Another check-up. Lilah figured Ecnel'ovelam would want to know if she'd found anything in France. No big deal, really. She'd just lie and say she'd found nothing. She could even blame it on the psychics. It certainly wouldn't be the first time they'd provided faulty information.

But for some reason, the letter sent a cold shiver up her spine. Something about it was wrong. Something about the wording was making Lilah uneasy….

She had no time to analyze the feeling, however. She'd been in the room too long already; Wesley would probably burst through the door at any minute if she didn't join him in the hallway. Sure enough, when Lilah exited the room, Wesley was tapping his foot impatiently.

"About time. How long can it take to grab a purse?" he asked, frowning.

Lilah rolled her eyes. "I couldn't find it in all the debris, all right?"

Wesley gestured down the hallway. "Let's go. I want to investigate that building across the street from which the gunshots originated. Whoever was shooting at us may still be there." He pulled her after him down the hallway and into the elevator. When they got to the atrium, he turned back to her. "Stay here," he said commandingly before running out the front doors.

People were giving Lilah strange looks. Perhaps it was because she had glass in her hair and bits of plaster covering her suit. Her hair couldn't look much better, either. She ignored the looks and walked lazily to the front desk, where the clerk was flipping through a magazine.

"I'm checking out early," she told the clerk.

He sighed in a long-suffering sort of way and pushed aside his magazine. "Name and room number?" he asked monotonously.

"Lilah Morgan. 237.

"Key, please."

Lilah slid the room key across the desk. The clerk hit a few keys on the computer, and the printer spit out a receipt. "By the way," she added nonchalantly, "there may be a few slight damages to the room. Nothing too serious, really, my friends and I just partied a little too hard--"

The clerk took out a form and started writing. "Extent of damages?"

Lilah shrugged. "Oh, just little things, really. A smidge of ketchup on the bedspread. A crack in the mirror. Hundredsofbulletsinthewalls," she said very quickly.

The clerk wasn't paying attention. "Sign here. Your credit card will be charged for any and all repair costs. Have a nice day."

Lilah took her receipt and sat in one of the couches facing the front doors. She took out the letter from Ecnel'ovelam again. Something about it kept bothering her. She reread it a couple of times, though she couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. She was probably just jumpy….

But her eyes kept passing over the last two words: Come alone. Somehow, it seemed out of place. The more she thought about it, the more she realized what a strange request it was. Who did Ecnel'ovelam think she might bring to such a meeting?

Then something clicked in Lilah's head. _Come alone. Disembodied soul (or lack thereof).** Come alone.**_ Lilah cursed and tore the letter in two.

The Senior Partners knew Wesley was alive.

-----More to Come-----

Don't you wanna leave a review? Don't you wanna make my day a little bit brighter? Many thanks to Kelly (_thanks!)_, kittyge (_I, too, am an awful Minesweeper player)_, WesLess (_Ooo, I better not say anything about the person's gender)_, Ruth Quist (_thanks!)_, gopie (_my times for easy mode are all really terrible, so I stick to expert; by the way, I will **definitely** give you my cat for your pink marker)_, irish6red (_sorry, I don't think Angel's going to make an appearance)_, kiwilass (_thanks for reviewing!)_, -J (_I don't plan on addressing Fred very much, sorry)_, greensleeves8 (_thank you!)_, Rissa Rose (_thanks!)_, torontokid2003 (_thanks!)_, Luckysparkle (_sorry, it's not Cordy_), cursedgirl (_thanks!)_, Beer Good (_actually, Wesley doesn't have a clue, either)_, jords (_glad to see another "Lost" fan)_, and redmoon (_thanks!)_ for the reviews thus far. Group hug!

In celebration of pushing this fic over 10,000 words, making it my longest fic so far ("Diary of a Mad, Blue Woman" finished at about 9,000), I'm gonna knock _three_ people out of the running: It's not Angel, Spike, or Illyria. They're all off doing their own thing, and were nowhere near France at the time Wesley was resurrected.


	7. The Best Laid Plans

**Chapter Seven: The Best Laid Plans**

Wesley gently kicked an empty bucket out of his way. The **thunk** it made echoed several times throughout the large, vacant room. The entire building was deserted. There were ladders, plaster buckets, and wooden beams scattered across the room. It seemed, to all appearances, like an apartment complex that was being renovated.

Wesley walked over to the only window that wasn't boarded up. There were hundreds of bullet shells littering the floor. He bent down, grabbed one of the casings, and inspected it. An Uzi .9mm submachine gun. Someone meant business.

Wesley peered through the window towards the Calypso. Interestingly, there was a very narrow shooting field. From where he stood, only a few of the hotel rooms provided a clear shot, Lilah's among them. Wesley thought of the other buildings surrounding the resort. All of them were heavily frequented. No chance of receiving the privacy needed for an assassination. This empty building was the only one the shooters would have been able to use. So either Wesley and Lilah had received room 237 by an extremely unlucky coincidence, or someone with less-than-pleasant intentions had ensured their room assignment.

Wesley heaved a sigh. Less than two days of being alive again, and already he was in the midst of some life-and-death drama. Whether it was his or Lilah's, he couldn't tell yet. One thing was certain though: any chance he'd had of a peaceful second life had flown out the window.

Another quick inspection of the window area revealed nothing particularly interesting. A smudge of gunpowder, an empty box. Still, Wesley prided himself on his superior detective proficiency. He'd come a long way since he'd first stepped foot in Sunnydale almost six years ago. He was no longer the bumbling bookworm, the incompetent know-it-all. He had transformed into a capable, debonair hero. And he was hell with a gun. He was happy in the knowledge that the other Wesley was gone forever. Never to return.

Wesley smiled to himself as he turned to leave… and promptly tripped over the bucket he had kicked earlier. He fell forward and landed on the floor in a dreadfully ungraceful heap. He lay there for a minute, unhurt but humiliated. He was just grateful no one had been around to see him. Especially Lilah. He would never have heard the end of it.

As Wesley pushed himself up onto all fours, he felt something strange on his right hand. He sat back on his knees and stared at his palm. Blood. Just a drop, but blood unmistakably. He smeared it between his fingers. It had not yet congealed.

Wesley scanned the rest of the concrete floor. There were several blood drops each spaced about a foot apart. Most definitely not enough to have come from a fatal wound, but probably a deep graze. Wesley had been shooting blindly through the hotel window, yet somehow, miraculously, one of his bullets had hit home. Maybe his luck wasn't as bad as he thought.

He kept searching the floor for the droplets of blood. Within a minute, he was able to determine that the blood was in a relatively straight line towards the exit.

_Wesley stared at the blood leading towards the exit. She had tried to get out. She had run for her life, and she had been torn to shreds for her efforts. A feeling of horror ate at Wesley's stomach as he imagined the poor girl's screams ringing throughout the empty house. What was her name?_

_It was his first field assignment, the chance of a lifetime for any young Watcher-in-training. The chance to join senior officers of the Watchers' Council at an official Slayer trial. Wesley had been ecstatic. Years of laboring under the hardest courses at the University…. Ages of striving to win his father's respect…. There was no greater validation for so much hard work. He had been the youngest Watcher in a millennium to participate in such an event._

_Of course, his function in the task was limited. Wesley was to accompany four experienced Watchers as they transported a vampire from London to Pamplona, Spain. After the vampire was installed in the empty manor, Wesley was to wait outside with the other Watchers as the young Slayer battled for her life._

_Once the vampire was dispatched (whether by the Slayer or by the senior Watchers), he would help clean up the house. No risk involved. In fact, it sounded slightly boring to Wesley._

_He hadn't expected this, however. He hadn't expected the poor girl, almost as old as Wesley himself, to be mutilated. He hadn't expected to see a room covered with blood. And he hadn't expected the girl's Watcher to be wailing in the corner, hunched over his charge's disfigured body._

"_I should have told her!" he was saying over and over again between the sobs. "I should have told her! She should never have been here!"_

_Wesley tried to block out the sound of the man's harsh and interminable weeping. He tried to focus his mind on something else in the house… _anything_ else. But everything he saw was another knife in his gut. _

_Two Watchers were scrubbing blood off of the walls. One man was sweeping up what remained of the vampire after the Watchers had dispatched of it. Another man was picking up one of the girl's fingers with a large pair of clamps and throwing it haphazardly into a plastic bag. No one was bothering to console, or even _trying_ to console, the girl's grieving Watcher. There was no comfort for him._

_Wesley walked gently up the stairs. The banister was slightly cracked in one spot. Wesley imagined the girl had tried to break it for a stake. But her strength had failed her. She probably wasted just enough seconds for the vampire to grab her…. What was her name?_

_Wesley trod along the upstairs hallway, opening doors and peering inside. One room contained the box that had held the vampire, the box that he and the other Watchers had carried. One room was completely empty except for small picture on the wall. It was a picture of a little girl playing with a kitten, and it seemed entirely out-of-place._

_The last room was a bedroom with moth-eaten curtains and a small, broken chandelier. There didn't seem to be anything interesting or important. Wesley turned to leave. But he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. There was something small lying in the middle of the floor._

_Wesley approached it with a sick feeling in his stomach. No doubt it was another of the girl's fingers (they'd only found four so far). However, as Wesley got closer, he saw it was some sort of necklace. No. It was a rosary._

_He gently picked it up off the floor. It must have belonged to the girl. What was her name? He looked at the rosary. The beads were light blue, and the centerpiece medal contained a picture of a man in monk robes surrounded by animals. Saint Francis of Assisi._

_Wesley retraced his steps along the hallway and down the stairs to the foyer. The four Watchers who had been cleaning were now standing together in a corner, chatting and drinking tea from their thermoses. Wesley walked past them to the girl's inconsolable Watcher. The man was still wailing, his fingernails scratching at his face._

_Wesley cleared his throat. "Sir?" he asked as quietly as he possible could. The Watcher kept sobbing, showing no regard for Wesley's presence._

_Wesley hesitantly extended his hand, from which the rosary was dangling. It took a moment for the grief-stricken man to notice it. When he did, his sobs eased, and his fingers relaxed. He tentatively reached out a hand._

"_Isabelle's rosary." He wiped a smudge of dirt off of the picture of Saint Francis. "It was a gift from her parents. She told them what she was. Who she was. The Slayer. And they were so proud… so proud of the selfless woman she'd become. How shall I tell them? How shall I tell them I've killed their daughter?"_

_Wesley could think of nothing to say. There were no words. There was no Council-approved answer for such a question. This scenario had never been taught at University._

_The Watcher began to weep again. He was now clutching the rosary as if it were the only thing left of Isabelle. Wesley turned and stumbled out of the manor._

_Whenever Wesley was in Spain over the next few years, on assignment or on vacation, he would always visit Isabelle's grave. Of the many to follow, she was the first woman he'd failed to save._

----------

Tuesday morning arrived, and with it came the most sweltering temperature California had seen in a decade. Lilah was glad for the excellent air conditioning system in San Francisco's Wolfram and Hart. Her neck scar tended to itch terribly when she was perspiring.

She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She longed to take a quick nap. Lilah had been forced to get up at five in the morning to make the drive to San Francisco. Wesley, typically, had already been awake. When he asked where Lilah was going, she had responded "To take care of evil business. Now shut up and drink your tea." Wesley hadn't been pleased.

It was now noon exactly. The secretary outside the office Ecnel'ovelam was currently using answered a ring from the phone. She listened for about ten seconds before hanging up and gesturing to Lilah.

"Master Ecnel'ovelam will see you now, Ms. Morgan."

Lilah was surprised. As a rule, the higher-ups always made their appointments wait for about an hour past their scheduled times. So was the case with Holland, and it was most _definitely _the case with Linwood. It was their way of showing power and disregard. Lilah guessed, however, that a Senior Partner didn't _need_ to make his appointments wait to show power. His mere presence was quite enough.

Lilah entered the vast, lavish office and looked towards the desk, at which sat… Joan Rivers.

"Ms. Morgan," said Joan Rivers imperiously, "please come in. Sit down," she said, gesturing to the empty seat opposite her desk.

Lilah did as she was told. "If I had known I'd be meeting with you, I would have worn a midnight blue evening gown with matching sapphire jewelry," she said.

Joan Rivers looked puzzled for a moment before breaking out into an large grin. "Ah. Forgive me. I find this face very effective for terrifying people. I forgot I was using it." And with that, Joan Rivers' face melted away, leaving the dark, scaly complexion of Ecnel'ovelam.

"I appreciate your prompt attendance, Ms. Morgan. I'm sure you understand the matters to which this meeting relates."

"I have an idea," Lilah said cautiously.

"Quite. As we both know, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce is no longer a disembodied soul. He has been resurrected." Ecnel'ovelam gave her a shrewd look. "Out of curiosity, how long did you think you could hide something of this magnitude from the Senior Partners? Did you honestly think to outsmart us?"

"Of course not, sir," Lilah responded, choosing her words very carefully. "I just thought it might be best to assess the situation. See if anything about him was different or dangerous--"

Ecnel'ovelam waved a hand dismissively. "That's beside the point. The crux of the matter is that you were brought back to find Mr. Wyndam-Pryce's soul. Obviously, that is not an issue anymore."

Lilah held her breath. Was Ecnel'ovelam about to send her back to Hell? If there were no longer any use for her….

Ecnel'ovelam seemed to read her mind. "Not to worry, Ms. Morgan," he said with a smile. "We have another job in mind for you, now. You see, the Senior Partners had not planned on Mr. Wyndam-Pryce being resurrected. We _were_ going to use his soul as a bargaining chip to bring Angel and his cohorts out into the open. But now… well, as you can see, the plan changes a bit. The point is, we simply have no use for Mr. Wyndam-Pryce now that he's alive. He's capable of too much trouble."

Lilah considered everything she had just learned. The Senior Partners didn't want Wesley alive. Which meant…. "It was Wolfram and Hart. They tried to kill us at the Calypso resort," Lilah said decisively.

Ecnel'ovelam was doodling on a piece of paper absent-mindedly. "Dear me, yes. Although, the field operatives weren't trying to kill you. They were just aiming for Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. You happened to be in the wrong place, I'm afraid. They made sure you were given that particular room, so they'd have a clear shot at Mr. Wyndam-Pryce from the opposite building."

Lilah was getting a headache. She dearly wished she had a dry martini in her hand. "So, what does all of this have to do with me? What job do you want me to do now?"

Ecnel'ovelam began chewing on a pen thoughtfully. "Yes, about that. Tell me, Ms. Morgan. Have you ever heard of Fury's Dagger?"

Lilah racked her brain, trying to remember everything she knew about mystical weapons. "It's… a dagger."

"Ooo, very good deduction there," said Ecnel'ovleam sardonically.

Lilah continued. "A dagger made of diamond, if I'm not mistaken." Ecnel'ovelam nodded. "And if you stab someone with it, it will suck out and retain his or her soul."

"Not his soul. His essence," corrected Ecnel'ovelam. "There's actually quite a big difference. Not everything has a soul. Vampires, for example. But _all_ creatures have an essence. Even demons. However, that's beside the point, actually."

"Then what is the point, sir, if I may ask?"

Ecnel'ovelam rubbed his hands together before opening his desk drawer. He pulled something out: a dagger made of diamond. "The point is this, Ms. Morgan. We want you to kill Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."

-----More to Come-----

A/N: Not much more to go. Three or four more chapters, I'd guess. I'm fairly certain the identity of the person who resurrected Wesley will be revealed at the end of the next chapter. _Maybe_ the chapter after it. Still not sure. But if you have another guess about who it is, this might be your last chance to voice it. At this point, I'm a little worried you'll all be a bit disappointed with who it really is. Y'all have given some excellent theories, and I'm afraid you'll all be let down. :-(

Let me know what you thought of this chapter! Good? Bad? So-so? Chocolate-chip cookies to Kelly, kiwilass, kittyge, gopie, -J, greensleeves8, irish6red, Ruth Quist, WesLess, Rissa Rose, torontokid2003, Luckysparkle, cursedgirl, Beer Good, redmoon, and jords for the reviews thus far!

On a side note, for Chapter Six, can y'all do me a favor and pretend that Lilah says **"You're unpacking _now?"_ **instead of **"You're unpacking _now_!"** as it currently reads? That latter makes it sound like she's commanding Wesley to unpack now. Obviously, this is not the case. This site's coding messed it up (don't ask me why I can't have a question mark followed by an exclaimation mark), and I don't feel like replacing the whole chapter for one little question mark. Thanks!

Oh, and it's not Lorne or Dawn.


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